


Keep

by astriddanes



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: F/F, Happy ending despite it all, Romance, dealing with traumas, i love them both and they are good and blizzard can't change my mind on this, what's canon i don't know i can't read suddenly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2019-06-20 21:38:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15542679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astriddanes/pseuds/astriddanes
Summary: Jaina Proudmoore goes to apologize to Sylvanas Windrunner for the events during the battle for Undercity. It's the first time they talk, face to face, and it sets off a chain of events that leads them to each other again and again, drawn together by fates past, present and future.





	1. Bring Me to Ruin

**Author's Note:**

> _We need each others’  
>  breathing, warmth, surviving   
> is the only war   
> we can afford_
> 
> "They are hostile nations" by Margaret Atwood

 

Sylvanas did not sleep. Undeath brought many things with it, and her need to rest had long since ceased to exist. Among many other living needs and desires. Still, she kept a bed in her private chamber, splendid and old. Deep in the maze of Undercity’s tunnels and caverns, her room lay hidden. She went there when she needed time alone from them all – no one but her allowed in there. And tonight called for it.

 

The battle Undercity had left a bitter taste in her mouth. No real justice had been brought forth, and the orcs were already imposing sanctions on her and the city. The kor’kron were coming in force over the next few days, shouldering in on her sanctuaries. At least they did not know about this place.

 

The door only responded to her touch, and sliding it open caused small clouds of dust whirled up. It had been some time.

 

The paintings all stood leaned against the walls, canvases turned away. The furniture was old and heavy, former belongings of the Menethil royal family and now hers. She had taken the finest things from the royal quarters and then never used them, other than to the open a drawer and shove a dirty old necklace into it. Moths ate away at the bed linens and draperies.

 

She hoped Arthas had loved all of this, once, now that they were hers. She hoped his heart was rotting. Spiteful hopes were all that kept her going on bad days.

 

A rustle behind her made her draw a dagger and to her great surprise, Jaina Proudmoore stood there. Uncertain and apologetic. Soot and ash and probably blood still on her dress. She held up the empty palms of her hands as a gesture of goodwill, but it did not make Sylvanas lower her blade.

 

”Lady Sylvanas, I came to apologize,” Jaina began, keeping steady eye contact. ”For what happened today. For what Wrynn attempted to do.”

 

Sylvanas scoffed. ”Don’t apologize for your king. He is his own problem. Not yours.”

 

”Still, today was… It could have gone down better.”

 

”Indeed.” Sylvanas warily eyed the amulet Jaina clutched at her neck. ”How did you know about this place?”

 

”He had some favorite places in this city. Arthas, I mean…”

 

”Ah.”

 

Then they stood in silence, eyeing each other. They knew everything about the other – how could they not? As important as they were. As tragic as they were. Yet had never spoken.

 

”Wine?” Sylvanas offered, lowering her weapon.

 

”Excuse me?”

 

”Would you care for some wine?” she said, enunciating each word carefully. She did not expect Jaina to say yes and stay. She kind of hoped the mage would leave so she could set fire to the room. Holding on to what Arthas had once loved did her no favors, it seemed.

 

Jaina looked around the chamber. ”Here?”

 

”Does it not suit you, lady Proudmoore? Here, among the remains of your old lover? Among the spillage and ruins he left behind, with the banshee he discarded?” A wicked smile played on her lips.

 

Jaina winced – she tried to hide it, of course, but Sylvanas could see that the words had hit home. Good.

 

”I know a better place.” With a snap of her fingers, Jaina had teleported them both out of Undercity, and their feet were sinking into soft sand.

 

Sylvanas brought up her hand to shield against the sun rising over the horizon, setting the sea in front of them ablaze in a myriad of warm reds and pinks. The golden sand made her feet sink a little for each step she took, but Jaina simply kicked hers off and went to the waterline, her naked feet leaving indentations behind. She waded knee-deep into the ocean and let the waters soak her skirt, the dirt washing off.

 

Sylvanas remained on the shore, one step away from where the waves lapped at the beach. Looking back over her shoulder, she recognized the dark forests of Silverpine. Not far from home.

 

After a minute, Jaina waded back in, the water sloshing around her legs and splattering her dress. ”There’s nothing like the sea.”

 

”Spoken like a true Kul Tiran.” A sharp barb that hit home, much to Sylvanas’ cruel amusement.

 

Jaina did not reply and instead conjured up two glasses and a bottle, offering one to Sylvanas.

 

”So you have brought me here.” Sylvanas sipped at the wine. It tasted of nothing, at least at first, and then a barely perceptible aftertaste of bitter dryness. ”What do you want to talk about?”

 

Jaina paused. "Nothing, actually.”

 

"As you wish.”

 

They drank a glass each in silence. When they finished, Jaina took Sylvanas’ glass and refilled it. Their hands touched, hot and cold. Jaina flinched a little, then straightened her back and looked directly at Sylvanas.

 

”You’re not  _his_  ruins.”

 

Sylvanas looked at Jaina coolly, regarding the woman with as blank a stare as she managed.

 

She had always been talked about as the effect to Arthas’ cause. The forsaken were naught but his leftovers. Not even the Horde accepted them fully. Least of all her: the seething, vengeful banshee queen. Oh, how they spoke of her and thought she did not hear. How they feared and loathed her. And always, always she was a consequence of Arthas, of the Lich King.

 

Part of it was true. She was ruined. But she was not his, not anymore, and she would never be again.

 

Jaina licked her lips, her lips tinted faintly by the wine. How terribly alive she looked.

 

Sylvanas raised her glass in a mock-toast. ”Neither are you.”

 

* * *

 

 

_Lady Sylvanas must forgive me for my intrusion last night. My adrenaline got the better of me. - J_

 

_You are forgiven. But I did enjoy the wine. - S_

 

* * *

 

 

Sylvanas had never terrified Jaina. It felt odd to admit, even to herself, as they made their way through the Frozen Halls of the Icecrown Citadel.

 

Before, she might have looked at Sylvanas and thought:  _at least if Arthas kills me, there’s something more beyond that._ A grim reminder. Now, she was not entirely sure what she thought. That the queen was intimidating, yes, but not without a flicker of recognition. That they had been affected by the same man – of course, nowhere near the same, but… Many things and all of them confusing.

 

Jaina had gathered one piece of information, a scrap of a clue, and Sylvanas had been there when she arrived, hot on the heels of her own intel. Neither had mentioned this to the other. They had not seen each other since that night, but they had exchanged courteous notes here and there, and at the tournament grounds, Jaina had felt Sylvanas’ eyes bore into her from across the court, but every time she looked up Sylvanas was watching the events below.

 

At night, she sometimes woke up in a cold sweat from a nightmare of darkness unfurling in her bedroom like black smoke, a cool chill crawling up her body and then finally: the red eyes glowing, watching. Or well. She called them nightmares. They never felt threatening. Just overwhelming, and confusing, and as if they were pulling on a thread deep within her, tugging her towards a great unknown.

 

In front of her, Sylvanas motioned to two of her dark rangers to take out the enemies ahead. ”Do you feel it, lady Proudmoore? The chill of death here. The torment that lingers in the air. Nothing good has ever been wrought here.”

 

Jaina nodded.

 

The halls were deceitful, filled with lost spirits and furious ghosts. Sylvanas could pierce through them all with her cursed arrows and press on with an intensity that should unnerve her. But Jaina just felt it echoed in her. Different, but same. She needed to find this out. She had to know.

 

”Don’t listen,” Sylvanas said softly as they entered the pit of Saron.

 

”What do you mean?”

 

Sylvanas looked towards the open mine, the mineral veins glowing a dark green under fresh snowfall. ”His whispers. You will hear soon enough. Don’t listen to it.”

 

Faintly, at the back of her mind, a scratch and a call that made her shiver…  _Jaina. So vain to think you can turn the tide. You’re not the pride of Kul Tiras anymore. What power do you really have?_

 

Sylvanas snapped her fingers an inch from Jaina’s nose. ”I said don’t listen.”

 

Jaina shook her head, swallowing. ”Is this what you heard, when you were under his spell?”

 

”Worse. Far worse. He was crueller then.”

 

”I’m sorry.”

 

Sylvanas paused, disgust passing across her features for the briefest second. ”He will be sorry soon enough.”

 

_Following my banshee into your own ruin. You think you can trust her? You think she’s not ready to turn on you, cut your throat, laugh as you bleed out at her feet?_

 

”What does he whisper to you?” Jaina asked, trying to put the thought out of her head.

 

”He’s trying to tell me you will kill me when I let my guard down. That you will always pick him before anyone else.”

 

”He tells me–”

 

Sylvanas put a finger over Jaina’s lips. ”I don’t need to hear it. You can keep his lies. All they do is fester like maggots in a wound, anyway.”

 

There was something harsh and sharp about Sylvanas in there. Jaina felt it too – the strings inside her tightening. Something was just within her grasp, and if it slipped out of her hands now, so close, she would… She did not know. It would hurt, and it would prove many unflattering things about her. Always at the scene of the crime, never one to stop it.

 

When a frostbrood wyrm rained down hard ice upon them Jaina instinctively wrapped her arm around Sylvanas’ waist and teleported them both out of harm’s way. Sylvanas was cold to the touch. Not frozen, not like icicles or glaciers, but as if she had forgotten warmth entirely. It felt odd to touch her, and she could feel Sylvanas tense up.

 

”Thank you. For that.” Sylvanas cleared her throat, and Jaina removed her arm, embarrassed she had kept it there for so long.

 

”You’re welcome.”

 

The whispers grew more enraged as they pushed deeper, and when they came upon Frostmourne, Sylvanas had her teeth gritted. ”He is near.”

 

”Are you sure?”

 

”Yes.”

 

The chill of the place went all the way to her bones. She shuddered, making a small noise, and Sylvanas turned sharply to glare at her. Then she unfastened the cloak slung over her shoulders and threw it at Jaina. ”It’d be a tragedy if you were to die of frostbite.” Her sarcastic tone made Jaina blush.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Jaina believed in goodness. She believed in redemption. She believed in so many things, and Sylvanas found it to be such a pity that the Lich King would crush all of it. Or if not him, then life, war, love. It would all wreck her. She was too open. Too willing to trust, and be empathic, and therein lied her future doom.

 

Despite the warnings of ghosts long dead, she pleaded for a solution. Could she truly be foolish enough to stare death in the face and bargain still? Her precious Arthas was long gone. Only ghosts remained.

 

And of course, the both of them.

 

”So we have walked into a trap,” Sylvanas mumbled as Uther droned on and on, calling Jaina endearments like  _little girl_  and berating her like she was a teen. The cruel thing about spirits – they never saw you as anything but what you used to be.

 

”Maybe,” Jaina replied, her eyes fixed on Uther. ”But we both knew this was a risk.”

 

”There must always be a Lich King, Jaina… There must always be a jailer of the damned. Strike Arthas down, but know that another must bear the burden.”

 

Sylvanas laughed. Of course. Of course that cursed entity had a hook, a detail that would force itself upon someone. Oh, what a terrible burden it must be to control the Scourge. Oh, what a truly  _noble_  sacrifice Arthas had made, killing and slaughtering and destroying, so that he could be the one to shoulder the heavy mantle.

 

Jaina looked horrified, but all this just made Sylvanas want to kill him more. Whatever came after didn’t worry her. Nothing else mattered than his fall.

 

”There must be some way…” Jaina gnawed on her lower lip for a moment before she spoke to Uther again. ”Is there anything left of Arthas?”

 

”Child… He does not feel for you like that anymore. He feels nothing that you would recognize.”

 

”But–”

 

Sylvanas felt a familiar, horrible tug at the back of her mind and grabbed Jaina by the shoulder. ”He’s coming.  _Now._ ”

 

She drew an arrow and readied her bow, but Jaina put her hand over Sylvanas’. ”I have to try to speak him. Please. Give me one chance.”

 

”You are a fool,” Sylvanas sneered.

 

Jaina held onto her staff, icy air swirling around her fingers. ”I know. And I know I likely won’t change anything. But if there is even a chance, even a fragment left of him…”

 

”Do you love him so much?”

 

Jaina winced, turning her face away from Sylvanas.

 

Love truly did make fools out of everyone. Sylvanas lowered her bow, just enough, and let her rush ahead to try and speak sense into the Lich King. It gave her time to approach from the shadows, to time her strike perfectly. If Jaina was so keen to be bait, let her. She was stupid enough to look death in the eye and plead for something long gone.

 

For a moment. And then something changed in Jaina’s expression, her eyes went dark and she attacked. She struck the first blow.

 

Maybe her assessment wasn’t entirely accurate, Sylvanas considered, taking aim at the Lich King with the intent to kill. Maybe Jaina had something hard in her. Maybe she could be dangerous yet.

 

* * *

 

 

 

”He’s gaining on us!” Sylvanas urged Jaina on as she staved off the assault of Scourge, cutting down rotting limbs and shuffling corpses while Jaina attempted to break the barriers halting their escape.

 

”I almost have it, just—” The ice wall shattered and Jaina teleported them a short distance forward before they broke into a sprint, the Lich King not far behind them. Even if he moved slow, this glacier was his to command, and the ice… The waters that made it were tainted, hard to control or push against. Jaina struggled against it, feeling his attempts at trapping them with him. She would not let him. She had already disappointed Sylvanas once today, she didn’t need to do it twice.

 

Sylvanas stopped in her tracks and caught Jaina by the arm before she plummeted ahead. They stared down an abyss. End of the road.

 

”So it has come to this.” Sylvanas knocked an arrow and took aim. ”Can you not teleport us out?”

 

”There’s something in the ice, in the water, it blocks my attempts.” Jaina felt the wind tug at her clothes, howling and vicious. ”We will die here. I’m sorry. I made a mistake.”

 

”He will kill you, yes.” Sylvanas let her arrows fly, none of them piercing the swirling ice around the Lich King as he approached. ”But it is what comes after that should worry you.” She looked out over the cliffside, and down. ”The fall will be long. But it will save you from worse things.”

 

”That’s… No… It can’t end like this…”

 

”But it will.” Sylvanas grabbed her by the collar and shoved her, and Jaina instinctively grabbed at Sylvanas and dragged her down with her. Neither screamed.

 

As they fell, Jaina kept snapping her fingers, trying her best in a last-ditch attempt to save them. For each second she got closer to being able to manifest a spell, even as the wind tore at their clothes, tangling their hair together. She looked up at Sylvanas’ face, and saw… It was like she truly saw Sylvanas, for the first time. No shadow cast from her hood to obscure her features.

 

Sylvanas had her eyes closed, her face free of any anger, or sorrow. Just peace. Acceptance. As if she had waited a long time for this moment. It made Jaina’s heart ache, made tears sting at the corner of her eyes and freeze to ice before they even made it past her eyelashes.

 

They deserved  _better_.

 

The magic suddenly rushed into Jaina’s hands and she teleported them instinctively. Her back slammed against an old mattress and knocked the air out of her lungs, and Sylvanas landed on top of her. For a moment Jaina could not breathe, and she thought her torso had been crushed, but then she could draw breath and she gasped for more, greedy and shaky and…

 

Sylvanas opened her eyes, looking down at Jaina below her. She put a finger to Jaina’s neck, feeling the pulse in her artery, then giving a small smile. ”We live.”

 

Jaina struggled to say anything back, her breath shaky, her entire body trembling. They were alive.  _They were alive_.

 

Sylvanas snorted, a short soft noise. ”A convenient teleport to my home, I see.”

 

Looking around, she saw that they were in the chambers of the queen. It looked almost the same as last time she saw it, just as neglected and dusty. Just as depressing as then. It hurt to be here, somewhere deep down in her, but above all – she felt relief. Pure and sheer and joyful relief.

 

It bubbled up in Jaina and without thinking she reached up and pressed her lips to Sylvanas’. Her lips were cold, colder than Jaina’s, but soft. So strangely soft. It was just a brief kiss. She didn’t think. She always thought before acting, before doing anything. She never gave in to instincts or feelings, staying calm and level-headed, but she had never brushed this close to death before in her entire life. And she just did it.

 

When the reality of what she was doing – kissing Sylvanas Windrunner, the Banshee Queen – she pulled back and covered her mouth, teleporting away.

 

She landed with a harsh thud in her own tower in Theramore, the windows wide open and the room flooded with warm light. She blinked several times, then fell back onto the floor with a groan. She kept touching her lips until the chill went out of them, but she could not forget how the kiss had felt. How it made her feel. So odd. And so alive.

 

* * *

 

 

_We would both be dead were it not for you throwing us off that cliff. Thank you. - J_

 

_You have odd ways of showing gratitude, lady Proudmoore. - S_

 

_We almost died. Also: I forgot to return your cloak. - J_

 

_Keep it. It’d be a shame if you got a frostbite. - S_

 

* * *

 

 

They were both there, as Arthas fell. Where else could they be? Each moment in the halls of Icecrown Citadel felt unbearable, yet he did not call out to them once. So many other souls pushed at him for attention, and he seemed to not care about them. Not anymore. As if he had forgotten everything about them. Jaina felt relieved at that. She did not want him digging around in her, grabbing at her emotions and twisting them into something horrid.

 

They stood shoulder to shoulder the entire time. As if proximity could stave off all doubts.

 

They watched as ghosts claimed what lingered of Arthas. Jaina felt something wither in her chest – not enough to make her cry. Just the last dust from a long time ago vanishing into nothing. All that from that time of her life had passed on now. It was all gone.

 

They both remembered the words –  _another would have to take his place –_ and looked at the helm of the Lich King, discarded next to Arthas’ body, black like charred coals and endless nights. A crown for a doomed ruler. A crown demanding a soul to suffer.

 

”I could do it,” Jaina said quietly, the first one to speak in the tense minutes after Arthas’ passing. ”Someone must.”

 

Sylvanas shook her head. ”Do you think this is your destiny? To follow in his footsteps? It ruins whoever takes it on. You would not be yourself anymore.”

 

”A sacrifice has to be made.”

 

Sylvanas grabbed Jaina’s arm, halting her. ”And you think you’re the one to give everything up for this? After everything? This is not noble. It’s not bravery. It’s just death, and death is…” She narrowed her eyes, reading Jaina’s face, then let her arm go with a look of disgust.

 

Jaina reached her hands toward the crown, her fingertips grazing the dark helm. As they did, visions passed through her mind: that she would never feel the warmth of the sun or the softness of the sea again, that she would never see her beloved Theramore, that all she would love would wither and die in her heart the moment she put the crown on her head. The magic in her would turn to ash, and other, darker things would rise up to take its place. And she would never know this life again. All about it would be memories, but memories unable to soothe or sweeten, just… Cause hurt and pain to wrack her eternally.

 

She didn’t want to. But she had to.

 

A burning pain closed around her wrist and made her scream, but it wrenched her hand away. ”Jaina. That is not your fate to bear.”

 

”Bolvar…”

 

”There is nothing left among the living that comforts me.”

 

Bolvar’s temples burned her fingers as she lowered the crown onto his head. She whispered thank you to him, tears streaming down her face, but he did not react. When she turned away from him, Sylvanas gave her a dark look she could not decipher.

 

* * *

 

 

The celebrations were muted. Exhaustion ran so deep that no one stayed at it for long, and Dalaran fell silent earlier that night than usual.

 

Sylvanas waited until Jaina was alone on the balcony of the Violet Citadel before she approached. ”You almost took it,” she said, not sure if she was accusing or admiring.

 

Jaina, startled, jumped a little before she saw who it was. ”Someone had to.” She still wore the cloak Sylvanas had given her. How… Sentimental.

 

Sylvanas poured herself a glass from one of the half-empty abandoned wine bottles. ”Did you want it? Truly?”

 

Jaina lowered her eyes, looking out over the frozen expanse of Icecrown. ”No.” She bit her lower lip, just enough for Sylvanas to see one of her incisors – surprisingly sharp for a human. ”I didn’t love him. Everyone said I did, afterwards, said I loved him too much to see him go down that dark path. But I didn’t love him enough to follow him. I didn’t love Arthas at all.”

 

”I did not come to hear about your failed love life.”

 

Jaina shrugged. ”Then why did you come? To gloat?”

 

Sylvanas stepped closer to Jaina and took her chin between her fingers, angling the human’s face upwards. She studied Jaina’s face closely – the dark circles under her eyes, the soft two lines next to her right eye when she smiled were almost hidden now. A birth mark on her cheek, a bronzed shade to her features that had begun to fade from lack of sunshine. She took a sip from her wine without letting go of Jaina. ”Are you content?”

 

”Yes,” Jaina breathed, her voice a mere whisper.

 

”A small victory. If one at all.” She offered a crooked smile, exposing a fang. ”You know, scholars theorized all the Forsaken would die at this moment. That whatever curse held us in this undead state would let go. Yet here I am. As undead as ever. I guess there is a future for me after all. Yet the Lich King remains. Tempered, for now.”

 

”If a future comes where he rises, I will not hesitate. Not again.” Jaina looked dead serious.

 

”It is good to see you learn.”

 

Sylvanas offered the cup to Jaina, who drank a small sip from it, droplets lingering on her lips. Sylvanas brought her thumb up to swipe at Jaina’s lower lip, feeling a sting of jealousy over how warm she was, how dreadfully  _alive_  she remained.

 

”Why did you kiss me that time?” she asked, playing with Jaina, enjoying watching her squirm.

 

”I – I’m not sorry about that,” Jaina said, her cheeks flushing. Oh, how easy the living were. How deceitful their blood was. ”I wanted to.”

 

”A good enough reason, I suppose,” Sylvanas mused, taking another sip before she put down the glass and leaned in to kiss Jaina.

 

Jaina smelled of the sea, of salty waves and rotting seaweed, of ships decaying in harsh waters. She was a human, and despite all the power she held, all the magic she commanded, she was dying. Day by day, year by year. The wrinkles at her eyes, the exhaustion in her voice. Sylvanas could practically smell death when she kissed Jaina. It was intoxicating.


	2. Only A Moment

_Lady Windrunner,_

 

_I feel that we must lay down some ground rules, considering… Well, you are you, and I am me. It’s a delicate situation. I propose that these rules are:_

 

_No talking about politics._

 

_No public risk-taking._

 

_In fact, no public anything. I expect both of us to make use of illusions, safe spots, neutral places to meet. We need to be discrete._

 

_No using what we learn from the other to further our own agenda, or the agenda of the Alliance or Horde. What we have, what we do, is completely isolated from that._

 

_Do you agree? - J_

 

 

_Lady Proudmoore,_

 

_Do you always make your potential lovers sign contracts?_

 

_I propose my own rule: we are just two strangers enjoying benefits with each other. It needn’t be deeper. - S_

 

 

* * *

 

 

”She was smelling flowers.”

 

Sylvanas sighed, annoyed at the brevity of the report. ”What flowers?”

 

Nathanos shrugged. ”Just flowers. Red ones.”

 

Sylvanas closed her eyes, taking her time to speak each question with acidic measure. ”What were their petals like? Did the stem have thorns? How did it grow, and where, exactly?”

 

With Garrosh, Cromush and all of the other orc warlords breathing down her neck demanding results and never letting her out of their sight, Sylvanas found herself more and more confined to Undercity. At least she could send out Nathanos to do some work in her stead, but even he was found lacking. Useless.

 

”It grew by the Antonidas memorial.”

 

”I must do everything myself, it seems.” She rose from her throne and conjured up a disguise, looking at herself in the mirror. Illusions such as these came easy to her, a necessity these days to walk where the kor’kron could not follow. 

 

”What will I tell the orcs?”

 

”Nothing.” She changed the illusion, from forsaken to human. Better. ”If they must know, provoke them for all I care.” 

 

Finding the time to see Jaina Proudmoore in-between duties had become difficult, if not outright impossible. It annoyed Sylvanas, to have others meddling in her affairs, telling her where to go and what to do. At least looking like a human she could walk away from that, for just a little while. 

 

In Dalaran, no one looked twice at a human. No one cared as she walked through the streets, despite how rare visitors were considering the Shattering had distracted the whole of Azeroth. She found herself alone at the memorial square. Good. Would make her day easier. 

 

After surveying the flower beds, determining that even Nathanos must have enough wit to tell orange and pink from red, she plucked a handful of blood-red carnations, her touch causing the stems to dry and blacken. Typical, but expected.

 

She found Jaina at her usual spot, deep in thought over a book in the library.

 

Sylvanas leaned over her shoulder, lips to Jaina’s ear. ”A gift,” she whispered, amused when Jaina breathed in sharply. ”From a deathly devoted.”

 

Jaina glanced around in the empty reading room before she looked up at Sylvanas and spoke in a low voice. ”Those are forbidden to pick, you know.”

 

Sylvanas dropped them on top of the book she was reading. ”So? I do not care. Take them or not. They will wither and die nonetheless.”

 

Jaina picked them up, buried her face in the bouquet and despite her rule-abiding self, smiled. ”Thank you. They are lovely. And while we are giving gifts…” Jaina held out her hand a box materialized in the palm of her hand. ”I enchanted this. For you.”

 

Sylvanas picked it up and opened it. A simple chain with a blank coin medallion. ”What kind of spell?”

 

”Like this.” Jaina walked into the other room and whispered against her wrist, and instantly she appeared in front of Sylvanas. ”There’s two, and they are tied together.” She held up her wrist. ”I just need you to speak my name and the spell will complete for mine.” 

 

Sylvanas carefully took off the one Jaina had and crushed it in her grip. ”For your own safety, it would be best like this. Unless you want to be caught by the kor’kron, questioned, tortured… Or worse.”

 

Jaina looked hurt, just for a brief second, before she managed to hide it. Sylvanas touched her cheek. ”I have eyes on me that I cannot always avert.” She wrapped the chain around her wrist three times, hiding it underneath her glove. ”But I will come for you.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

It would be easier if Sylvanas smelled of death. Easier to say no, to walk away. But no rot, no decay, nothing. Sylvanas smelled like chilled stones, old trees, and somewhere deep underneath it all, a faint scent of warm sunshine. Elusive and quickly lost, but there. Like a memory passing by.

 

Sylvanas never kissed Jaina without first having emptied a glass of wine. Maybe she thought herself smooth. Maybe she thought she was sparing Jaina from something undead. It was just that Jaina wanted a chance, at least one, to taste the real her.

 

Jaina put her hand over Sylvanas’, bringing the cup down. ”No wine. Just once.” 

 

Sylvanas glared. ”You must love the taste of death.”

 

”No. Just the taste of you.”

 

And she did.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The chill of death still lingered in Sylvanas’ chest as she used the bracelet to go see Jaina. She needed to chase it away, to have some balm to the failure of the day – three val’kyrs gone and another moment of death etched in her mind. Three times now. Three cursed times. Each one worse than the previous one.

 

Her feet landed on a warm cliff, a splash of water hitting her legs. Jaina emerged from under the water, throwing her head back, water cascading down her naked torso. When she saw Sylvanas on the shore she blushed and sank down in the water.

 

”So shy all of a sudden,” Sylvanas teased, crouching down on the cliff and beckoning Jaina close. ”I am a thousand years old. It is nothing I haven’t seen.” She nudged Jaina’s chin upwards and planted a soft kiss on her lips, but felt the mage shiver.

 

”You’re colder than usual,” Jaina said, her teeth chattering briefly. ”Is something wrong?”

 

”Nothing you need worry about. Go. Have fun. Enjoy the living life.” Sylvanas retreated to a cliff under the shade under a low-hanging tree its branches spreading out over the shore and water. Settling down on the warm flat surface, she took off her gloves and spread out her fingers. The heat would never warm her enough. The sun would never feel good on her skin again. All part of the curse of undeath.

 

She watched Jaina swim, her long languid strokes and sudden dives fascinating. Sylvanas herself had never cared much for the sea, but as a daughter of Kul Tiras it must have been part of Jaina’s life from an early age. It had to run in her blood, ingrained in her way of living.

 

Further out, a lone cliff lay exposed in the low tide and Jaina climbed up on it and sat there, her face turned towards the sun. Sylvanas distantly remembered that exact feeling: the warmth of a summer’s day in Silvermoon’s eternal forests, the relief of the ocean breeze. But that was another life long gone.

 

Eventually Jaina turned back, swimming towards Sylvanas and pulling herself up on the cliff. As she emerged she conjured a simple shirt onto her body, ending just past the top of her thighs.

 

”Come here,” Sylvanas purred. ”No need to be coy.”

 

She pulled Jaina down to sit between her legs, encircling Jaina’s waist with her arms and resting her chin on the still-wet shoulder. Her hair smelled of salt and seaweed: two scents Sylvanas had grown used to associating with her now. They felt… Familiar. Comfortable.

 

”Is something on your mind?” Jaina asked.

 

”Politics. And we do not talk about that, now do we?” Sylvanas kissed Jaina’s neck right underneath her ear, smirking as Jaina shuddered when her fangs scratched against her skin.

 

”A good rule.” Jaina squirmed against Sylvanas, tilting her head and offering up her neck. Always so eager. Sylvanas dragged her teeth along the neck, her hands moving up Jaina’s torso. Her fingers brushed over the nipples, hard under the soft linen fabric, and Jaina arched her back at the sudden touch.

 

”You are so delicate,” Sylvanas mused, her mouth at Jaina’s ear. ”It takes so little to get you going.” She slid one hand down the neckline of the shirt, her fingers playing with a nipple, rolling it between the fingertips. ”Just one touch and you’re ready to give yourself over entirely.”

 

”Always with this smugness,” Jaina tried to quip back, but the gravity of her words fell flat as she whimpered against Sylvanas’ touch.

 

Sylvanas’ other hand began drawing lazy circles on the outside of Jaina’s hip, nudging the towel up just a tiny bit and listening for the hitch in her breathing before letting go, feeling smug and satisfied with the reaction. Sylvanas enjoyed that the most about teasing Jaina, her reactions came so easy and eagerly. Stopping for just a second was enough for Jaina to break.

 

”Please,” Jaina whimpered, ”don’t stop…”

 

”As you wish, my lady.” 

 

Sylvanas pushed the shirt up, past the swell of her hips, and only needed to give a small nudge for Jaina to spread her legs. She could tell Jaina was holding her breath, and dragged out the teasing: only the lightest fingertip strokes, feeling each shiver of Jaina’s body against her chest, delighting in it. She ran one finger along the labia, then pressed in between the lips. The sensation of her cold fingertip against her clit made Jaina gasp and tense up.

 

”Does it not feel good?”

 

”So good.”

 

”Perfect.” Sylvanas teased, nudging Jaina close only to pull away and make her whimper for more. The game of pleasure suited her – denial, refusal, starting over when she begged hard enough. She brought Jaina close to the edge and pulled away, holding her hands just far enough that Jaina couldn’t feel them on her, feel their presence near her.

 

Jaina craned her neck, meeting Sylvanas’ mouth and whispering against her lips: ”Sylvanas, please…” Her hand found its way to Sylvanas’ neck, up to the ears. Infuriatingly, _someone_ at _some point_ had taught her about the sensitivity of elven ear tips. This was not how the game was meant to go. 

 

She wrenched control of the situation by pinching Jaina’s nipples, hard, causing Jaina to tug at Sylvanas’ hair. 

 

”Please…” Jaina panted, flustered. ”I need…”

 

Sylvanas interrupted with a gentle bite. ”I do so love hearing you scream my name.”

 

”Sylvanas,” Jaina moaned.

 

She thrust two fingers into Jaina, curving them. ”Louder.”

 

”Sylvanas!”

 

”Oh, to have Wrynn see you like this…” Sylvanas laughed darkly, biting Jaina’s shoulder hard as she flicked her fingers, angling for that spot that would render Jaina a mess in her hands.

 

”Don’t you… Dare…” Jaina trailed off as Sylvanas ran her tongue along Jaina’s jaw, up to her ear and biting the lobe of it.

 

”I would never think of breaking your precious contract.” 

 

She pressed her fingertips against Jaina’s folds, pushing her over the edge. Her whole body shuddered, shaking and arching. Sylvanas held on to Jaina’s throat, gently, letting her ride out the high before she slumped against Sylvanas’ frame.

 

”You’re horrible,” Jaina sighed.

 

”And you’re welcome.” Sylvanas rested her head on top of Jaina’s. She smelled different now. More – more of everything that was her smell – more _alive_.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Another attempt at diplomacy, another long day of watching Varian and Garrosh butt heads endlessly, riling each other up while the others at the table did their best to talk around them. No one made any progress. 

 

Worst of all, Jaina struggled to focus with Sylvanas across the table, her intense red eyes always on her. Each time Sylvanas spoke, Jaina pressed her thighs together under the table, reminded all too keenly about their time together on the cliffs. She managed to keep her cool through the talks, but when she left the room she felt a small headache building up at her temple.

 

Barely had she set foot outside of the chamber before she felt a cool touch at the base of her neck, and that velvety voice purring her name. ”We should go somewhere private.”

 

A quick glance determined they were alone in the corridor, and Jaina quickly teleported them to her study in Dalaran. Atop a tower looking out over the vast Crystalsong Forest below, she had badgered, bribed and talked her way to it for months before it was hers. But it had been worth it, she loved everything about it – the stunning view, the privacy, the stabilization runes that allowed for experimental magic.

 

Just as their feet landed that she whirled around and kissed Sylvanas, hard and needing, and the dark lady complied, her cool hands resting at Jaina’s back.

 

Sylvanas broke the kiss first, one of her fingers curling a stray lock of Jaina’s hair around her fingers. ”You try so hard to make us all do good.”

 

”And yet, none of you listen.” She shoved Sylvanas back onto the desk, grateful she had cleaned everything off it earlier in the morning. ”Your warchief is –”

 

”Ah ah, careful now. That sounds dangerously close to politics.” Sylvanas grinned. ”Wouldn’t want to go breaking your rules, now would we?” She grabbed Jaina by the collar of her dress, pulling her down for a deep kiss. Jaina spread Sylvanas’ knees apart with her own, and Sylvanas yanked Jaina down to straddle her thigh, the pressure of the position making Jaina moan into their kiss.

 

This would not do. She had to keep her composure, at least a little while longer. ”My turn,” Jaina said, sliding off Sylvanas’ lap to kneel between her knees. The way Sylvanas looked at her – eager, amused, her tongue tip pressing against a fang like she was ready to pounce – mirrored how she was feeling. 

 

Giving a tug on the waist of Sylvanas’ pants, Jaina looked up at her. ”May I?”

 

”You may.”

 

With an exhaled breath, Jaina cast a spell to remove Sylvanas’ pants, leaning her head against the inside of her cool thigh, her fingers drawing circles on the back of the cool thighs.

 

Sylvanas shifted, spreading her legs just a little bit wider. ”You spoke little at the summit. I was surprised.”

 

”I was saving my tongue for a better use.”

 

”Has this always been a fantasy of yours, lady Proudmoore?”

 

”Shut up.” She bit the inside of Sylvanas’ thigh for added emphasis. Sylvanas only laughed in response, sliding herself down and getting comfortable. 

 

Beginning with planting a kiss at the apex of her thigh, she ran her fingertips lightly across the mound in front of her, the soft lips parting when she dipped down and teased at the entrance. In response, Sylvanas curled her gloved fingers in Jaina’s hair, the sharp talon-like tips scratching her scalp. 

 

At least she was on the right track in one aspect of her life. 

 

Moving closer, she pressed a kiss to the mound, tracing her way down, alternating between licks and soft nips, sometimes letting her teeth bite just enough to hear a muffled hiss from Sylvanas. Her noises were so muted, her reactions kept tightly under check, that even the tiniest noise felt like high praise. 

 

Feeling the fingers meet wetness, Jaina dipped her tongue in. She had done this before, on humans and elves, but. This was entirely different. She had expected as much, but Sylvanas was unique in so many ways. Sylvanas remained still, stoic and too proud to move. Or so Jaina guessed – after a while she felt unsure and looked up. Above her, Sylvanas sat propping her head up, chin in hand and a dreamy expression on her face, eyes heavy-lidded and lips parted.

 

Jaina’s heart swelled at the sight, and she flicked her tongue upwards, towards the hooded clit, and was rewarded instantly with a soft noise.

 

She paused and drew away, fingers stroking the spot her mouth just left. She had wanted to say something, but Sylvanas’ eyes burned with annoyance.

 

”What do you think you’re doing?” Sylvanas sneered. She grabbed Jaina’s hair while also pushing herself against Jaina’s face, grinding against her tongue and teeth and fingers. Jaina pushed back, giving all she had, and she felt the fingers tighten hard before Sylvanas let go, relaxing and falling back on the table. 

 

”Satisfied, my lady?” Jaina asked, smug as she climbed on top of the table and straddled Sylvanas, dipping down to meet her in a kiss. 

 

Sylvanas smiled. ”That was a better use of your tongue, indeed.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

The Alliance and the Horde situation had not improved, and the tensions seemed to worsen constantly. Neither Wrynn nor Hellscream backed off, instead just urging the other to make a move, and for each such escalation Garrosh pressed his boot down on Sylvanas harder. He seemed hell-bent to wring whatever he could out of her, in terms of manpower and sacrifices for the Horde. Nothing she did was enough. Nothing the Forsaken gave pleased him, even if they died by the hundreds.

 

And always, the watchful eyes of his loyal lieutenants and spies.

 

The only place they could meet without worry seemed to be Jaina’s tower in Theramore. Jaina had taken care to enchant the entire floor, muffling sounds amongst other things.

 

Sylvanas would have preferred to meet somewhere less… Sunny. The windows were always open, letting the sea breeze through the quarters, and rays of sunshine slanted in and warmed the floors. And always, always the call of seagulls outside. When Jaina was not watching and it was the dead of night, Sylvanas would practice her aim on those infernal annoying birds. After a few times they even stopped circling too close to tower.

 

The nights there gave her a brief respite from the pressures waiting in Undercity. She would stay awake while Jaina slept, busying herself with reading one of the many tomes Jaina kept in the overflowing shelves, or more often, simply watch as the mage slept. Jaina moved often in her sleep, her face shifting, eyebrows knitting. Sylvanas would touch Jaina’s cheek then, just a quick brush of the knuckle against her skin. She would flinch, just a little, and then relax against Sylvanas’ hand, the stress fading from her face.

 

Sylvanas’ hands were cold. In the heat of the balmy summer nights, she always seemed to be what Jaina craved.

 

This night, she wandered the floor, restless. Her movements made Jaina stir and so she descended the tower steps. In the dead of night, no one else was there, but the middle of the room held a large table. A war table. She looked over the tactical board, at the pieces placed out on top of the map. 

 

Not a bad defense for peace-time, she would give Jaina that much. Though with the brimming rage and annoyance of Garrosh, who knew how long that would last.

 

”You’re not supposed to be in here,” Jaina chided from the door, stifling a yawn into her hand.

 

”You need to change your defenses,” Sylvanas said, ignoring Jaina’s admonishment or tugging hand trying to get her out. ”You are leaving two sides open, gambling on full northern defense line. Garrosh will figure it out eventually.”

 

”He’s a brute.”

 

”But he has been trained in war. He is a fool, yes, but a fool who will not hesitate to strike if he sees a chance.” Sylvanas gestured at the table. ”You are giving him those.”

 

Jaina looked at the map, her lips pursed in a thin line. ”I thought we agreed not to do this.”

 

”You are a diplomat at heart. You are not looking at this with my eyes.”

 

”Do you know something?”

 

”No. He keeps me in the dark more than any other leader of the Horde. Perhaps it is a blessing. I will not be dragged into one of his hare-brained schemes just yet.”

 

Jaina crossed her arms. ”You should leave. For tonight.”

 

Sylvanas bowed her head, glaring quietly. 

 

In time, Jaina would be forced to see it. 

 

And if not, it would be her undoing.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Officially, Jaina was in Silvermoon on diplomatic business. A meeting, a discussion about some exchange of magi knowledge, the usual boring but highly bureaucratic work. And of course, the sin’dorei had chosen to end the long day with an extravagant ball which she had been requested to attend. Now she stood at the edge of a massive ballroom, watching couples dance, trying to drink magically infused wine and finding the taste all too sweet.

 

Unofficially, she had met with Lor’themar and Rommath to discuss the possibility of Silvermoon re-joining the Alliance. A business that normally would have her elated but now just caused her unease. They were not looking to join because they believed in the Alliance, but rather to distance themselves from the madman ruling Orgrimmar. Their intentions seemed muddled. As if they were just looking for any better ship to come along and save them.

 

The same dread had caused her to receive diplomatic inquiries from the tauren, as well as Vol’jin’s trolls trading more frequently with Theramore on the down-low.

 

When it had been just Baine, she had been able to keep it under wraps. By now, Garrosh had to know something was up, and all the signs pointing towards her. She had tried putting Sylvanas’ warnings out of her mind, but eventually even she relented.

 

The lines were blurring, too much, too fast. They weren’t keeping to the rules they had set out. And the wine was getting to her head. She admonished herself for not eating more during the long day.

 

”Good evening, my lady.”

 

Jaina startled at the voice of Sylvanas next to her, turning to see… One of her dark rangers? In a perfectly tailored black suit?

 

It clicked in Jaina’s head. _Oh no_.

 

”What are you doing here?” Jaina hissed.

 

”Lor’themar never invites me,” Sylvanas said, brushing off some dust from the sleeve of her suit jacket. ”He knows I do not come, anyway. But my trusted rangers keep getting invites, and sometimes go. So I followed your rules, and disguised myself. Are you not pleased?”

 

Jaina emptied the last of the wine glass in one motion, grimacing at the sweetness. Honestly, did they just pour raw sugar in there? ” _Why_ did you come?”

 

”Are you not happy to see me, dear?” She smirked, leaning closer. ”I know what Lor’themar wants, and what he has asked of you. Safety for his people. Who can blame him?” The music changed, and Sylvanas’ held out her arm to Jaina. ”How about a dance? Entertain a poor, dead ranger.”

 

Jaina took her invitation, allowing herself to be led onto the dancefloor. Her head was buzzing with thoughts, about how they shouldn’t be doing this, how they were risking things, what if the illusion broke, what if everyone saw, what would the other dignitaries tell Wrynn… And then she felt Sylvanas’ firm hand at her lower back, guiding her gently to the steps of the dance.

 

”I missed you,” Jaina whispered in Sylvanas’ ear. ”But this is still foolish.”

 

”Come now. Let us have some fun.”

 

”If I know you–” Jaina was interrupted by Sylvanas spinning her out, giving her a harsh glare before pulling her back into her arms, ”–you have come for a reason.”

 

Sylvanas leaned her cheek to Jaina’s. ”Here are some truths for you: the horde is collapsing. The trolls have withdrawn to the Echo Isles from Orgrimmar. The blood elves flirt with the Alliance. The tauren think higher of you than him. He knows all this.”

 

The music dropped, the tune switching to a sadder, slower one. Jaina closed her eyes, trying to swallow the hard pill Sylvanas was offering. Of course she had suspected as much. She just wished it wasn’t true. ”And what else?” she asked, suddenly feeling tired.

 

”What we do not know is how he will bring us back to heel. He will not let us go. And you are in his cross-eyes now.”

 

”And what of the forsaken? What do _you_ want?”

 

Sylvanas ran a finger along the neckline of Jaina’s dress, causing her to shudder. Even like this, her touch was intoxicating.

 

”Stormwind will not take us. Nor will anyone else in the Alliance, and you know this. Many wish my people gone and undone, a mistake best erased.” The music swelled towards a crescendo, and Sylvanas tightened her grip on Jaina’s waist, shifting the balance and leaning Jaina back into a deep dip. Everything froze for a moment, the illusion wavering – or Sylvanas pulling her into it. Either way, she saw Sylvanas’ face, her long hair tied back into a loose bun, strands spilling out and framing her face. And her eyes… Burning red in the dimly lit room. ”I intend to go down fighting.”

 

She pulled Jaina up to her feet and the couples around them paused dancing, applauding the musicians. They were in their own little bubble, unseen. Jaina felt… She felt so much. Too much. ”Take me somewhere,” she pleaded.

 

Sylvanas let the illusion slide over her face again, but took Jaina’s hand and led her off the dance floor, past the revelers. They slipped behind a curtain and into a hidden corridor.

 

”I knew all the routes in the royal palace once,” Sylvanas said. ”I avoided coming here as much as I could, but when I had to, I made sure to know the way to find some solitude. The politics of court hardly interested me.” She paused, the palm of her hand searching for something along a flat stone wall. When she found it, she pressed into it and a hidden doorway opened.

 

”Have you always enjoyed staying hidden?”

 

”Tactical advantage.” She pushed a curtain to the side and motioned for Jaina to step inside.

 

The chamber they were in was dark, and Jaina whispered a spell into her hand and let a light fly up and illuminate the room. The view of it took Jaina’s breath away – it was so… Over the top. Delicately embroidered tapestries hung on the walls, the paled shadows of former paintings having left their marks. Rich, plush carpets that must have taken years to weave covered the entire floor, and robust marble piedestals held up vases with dried up flowers. A stack of paintings stood leaned against one wall, the outmost one showing a face she remembered well. Kael’thas.

 

”This is his chamber, isn’t it?” Jaina asked.

 

”Yes,” Sylvanas said, letting the illusion fall off her as she untied her hair. ”Rommath is too sentimental. He won’t let anyone touch this place for decades to come. We will be undisturbed.”

 

Jaina had intended to say something mean, about how they had to stop defiling the places of those who had injured them, they could not just be about spite – but she lost all cohesive thought when she looked at Sylvanas. The way the black suit clung to her, cut perfectly to fit her every curve, was really… Stunning. There were no others words for it. ”You look beautiful.”

 

Sylvanas smirked, pulling Jaina close. ”As are you, my lady.” She plucked at the corset of Jaina’s dress. ”A restrictive choice of dress.”

 

”Well, I…” Jaina didn’t finish her sentence before Sylvanas had her pushed up against a wall, her forehead leaning against the soft textiles as Sylvanas pinned her to the wall, hands running up the inside of Jaina’s thighs and just barely touching her sex. To Jaina’s shame, she was wet, so wet, and Sylvanas laughed softly as she felt it, but her hands didn’t linger.

 

”I think this corset will get in our way.” She tugged at the lacing on the back, working to loosen it. Jaina held her breath, trying to will herself not to just burn the clothing off her body, it was handmade, specifically tailored just for her. She couldn’t be that needy this soon.

 

As if reading her mind, Sylvanas tore loose a few buttons. ”Oops,” she said, obvious that she was not the least bit sorry. The dress fell off Jaina’s shoulders, pooling around her feet. She turned around and caught Sylvanas’ lips in a passionate kiss.

 

”Your turn,” Jaina said, unbuttoning the suit jacket, pushing it off and then her hands were too unsteady, too needy, ripping the buttons off the shirt underneath and tearing it off Sylvanas.

 

”My my,” Sylvanas teased, lifting Jaina up for a brief second and throwing her on the bed, small dust clouds flying up around her as she landed on the soft mattress. ”If you wanted me this much, you should have let me know.”

 

Sylvanas undid her trousers slowly, letting them fall to the floor before she climbed on top of the bed, pushing Jaina down as she kneeled above. ”I died trying to protect the Sunstriders. Their lands. Their people. And then Kael’thas turned around and ruined them.” Her hands were toying with Jaina, her touch feeling like it was everywhere – between her legs, on her breasts, bearing down on her neck and lips. ”Yes, I hate him. And I want to desecrate this place, out of spite. It’s who I _am_ , Jaina.”

 

She managed to make Jaina come, a surprise wave crashing over her. While she was still reeling, Sylvanas lifted up one of her legs and angled herself between Jaina’s legs. Before Jaina had a chance to piece her mind together enough, Sylvanas brought their vulvas together and the pressure made Jaina cry out, gripping at Sylvanas’ hips.

 

”Slow,” Jaina whispered, or begged, she had no idea anymore, ”or not… Just…”

 

”Shh.” Sylvanas rocked her hips and the sensation made both of them moan. ”Just enjoy this moment.”

 

They pushed and rubbed against each other, one or both slipping their hand down at times to bring the other over the edge – but because of how close they were, the other soon tumbled after. Jaina was rendered a sweaty messy wreck, but each time she came she pushed up against Sylvanas, wanting more. ”Again,” she pleaded, and the cool touch of Sylvanas soothed her and then edged her along.

 

After a few times Sylvanas rolled them over, putting Jaina on top as she rode Sylvanas’ thigh. Sylvanas kept her hands on Jaina’s hips, guiding her movements, her fingernails digging in to let her know when she was allowed to come.

 

And then it was too much, and Jaina screamed out her name, collapsing on top of her. She struggled to catch her breath while Sylvanas combed her fingers through Jaina’s long hair. A smug smile played on her lips, but she said nothing.

 

As they lay on the bed, basking in their afterglow, Jaina held her fingers up and snapped them. Everything in the room burst into flames, and for a brief moment she felt a sting of regret. The things he had kept had been beautiful. The historical value of the place, the relics, the books… But then as everything turned to ash around them in their protective shield, Sylvanas took her hand and kissed it.

 

”I love you.” Jaina didn’t care anymore. Break one rule, break them all.

 

Sylvanas stayed quiet for a long while, then spoke with a neutral voice. ”You have a soft heart. You should be more careful with who you let in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen. Sometimes you have to be indulgent and let these two tragedies have some good happy moments, because god knows Blizzard won't be the one to give it to them.


	3. You can do no harm (in my eyes)

 

Their life had a rhythm to it – meet up in the shadows of something else, sneak kisses and touches in places no one else could reach, and part the next morning. It didn’t mean anything, they kept telling themselves, it was just stress relief, or a good night of pleasant company, or exactly whatever else than what they were doing. 

 

They had been fooling themselves, thinking it would last.

 

* * *

 

 

Garrosh summoning Sylvanas to Orgrimmar put her on guard. She brought a full honor guard with her, never sure what to anticipate with him – insults at the best of times, and at the worst: orders to head into full-on war with whoever he hated now. He sowed so many seeds of discontent and discord. 

 

Things had changed in Orgrimmar. All the guards were orcs, and trolls and goblins were pushed to the margins of the city. It set a precedent she disliked. It marked what he cared about – and nothing else. His Horde would break upon itself at this rate. 

 

In the war room, the other leaders were just wrapping up something. 

 

”Am I late?” Sylvanas asked, keeping her voice icy cold. She had arrived at the exact point he had asked for. This was a move of power from his side.

 

The other leaders looked at her, some of them outright tortured in their expressions, as they filed out past her. Lor’themar tried to make some sort of eye motion but with only one eye, it just looked like excessive blinking. Useless as ever.

 

”I have already laid out my plans for the others,” Garrosh said, gesturing at the map. 

 

Sylvanas glanced at it and felt fury bubbling. Theramore. He was finally doing it. He was moving in on Jaina.

 

”You imbecile!” she sneered. ”If you attack her, you will endanger all of the Horde. You stand to ruin Orgrimmar!”

 

Garrosh grinned, that mad dog-grin when he thought he had the upper hand. ”Is that all you worry about, banshee? My spies tell me otherwise.”

 

Sylvanas froze. A cold dread crept up her spine, but she did her best to remain neutral. ”What are you talking about?”

 

”You think your little dalliance with the enemy has gone unnoticed? There’s always spies, for the right price. There’s always a keen eye. And you have been a very naughty banshee.”

 

”You accuse me of what, exactly? Spit it out.” She had to hear it. She would not abide anything less. If he made her fear, then at least make it fear for the right reasons.

 

”They used to say things about Thrall and her, you know. Soon they will say it about her and you, if you don’t watch your back.” He thumped his fist on the war table. ”Or she will perish with the rest of her city.”

 

”So what do you want of me? For me to grovel? Beg?” She brought up all her hatred for him, all her loathing, darkness swirling around her hands as the banshee wanted to scream at him. ”You are delusional. You are a fool.” She turned to leave, infuriated, and hoping to be able to get to Jaina in time to warn her.

 

”You’re too late,” Garrosh said, laughing. ”The bomb is already there, about to be deployed.”

 

Sylvanas closed her eyes, feeling something wither in her. Another city laid to waste and ruin without her being able to stop it. Another thing she had kept close to her heart ripped out and stomped to pieces. Another man who threw her around as if she mattered for nothing, discardable and forgettable. Oh, he would regret this. He would regret it all.

 

”So you kill her. What? As a warning to me? As an act of war?” The banshee rose as she spoke, the darkness around her bending the light of the room. The fire flared and died out, and she could see Garrosh finally understand who she was: take her life, and she would take yours. Take her heart, and she would rip yours out. ”You think you can ruin me. I am the ruination you fear. I will tear you apart.”

 

”You think Undercity will be safe if I die?” His mouth curled into a vicious sneer. ”My kor’kron – who _guard_ your city, who keep it safe from _itself_ – will attack. They will know, and they will lay waste to your precious forsaken.”

 

She seethed, her eyes narrowed as she spat out the words with acid. ”You would hold the people of the Horde hostage?”

 

”I do what I must for the true Horde.”

 

She glared at him. He would threaten her people, her forsaken. He would kill innocents and burn cities. He would draw the ire of powerful enemies. Oh, he was dooming himself to an early death. She ached to give it to him. But first, she had to safeguard her people.

 

She swallowed back her indignation, resuming her normal form as she turned to leave.

 

”Do not come back here, banshee,” Garrosh warned, ”unless you want all of your people to burn. And follow my orders.”

 

_You will be the one to burn. Just wait._

 

She left, not to mourn, but to bring his world down. She would plot, she would plan, and she would be the one to execute him with her bare hands and final breath if necessary. One day he would beg her for mercy and she would deny him, and it would be the sweetest revenge of all.

 

* * *

 

 

Jaina wished she had sunk underneath the tides along with her beloved Theramore. At first. And then not even the sea could temper her hurt. The rage flashed hot-white through her. All those lives, all those souls that had been under _her_ protection. The Horde had cared nothing for the rules of engagement, using a dirty trick to wipe everything out. He would resort to war crimes to win? Well. She would answer back with the retaliation of everyone lost.

 

She walked among the ruins, the raw untamed magic crackling in the air. She felt it do things to her, pull and tug and urge her to give in, to take it all within herself and self-destroy. She did her best not to give in. It would be easy enough – take it all in her, just long enough, teleport to Orgrimmar and detonate herself. She would give back just what they gave her.

 

The sky darkened above. How long had she been here, touching the rubble, brimming with rage and sorrow? She had to do something.

 

Where her tower had stood nothing remained. In the wreckage she caught sight of a white-haired woman moving, and she threw herself down on her knees to help dig her out before she realized it was a mirror. She touched her own face, the eyes alight with a blue glow, her hair turned white save for one golden streak. The tell-tale signs of over-exposure to mana. 

 

As if she could leave, just like that. As if she deserved to leave, to save herself – no. Her people deserved better of her. She had to survive another day, if only to die on the sword of vengeance. She had to set this right.

 

Rising up she took her staff and walked out into the water, pulling on the unnatural unbound magic of Theramore to fuel her. The sea rose under her feet, the waves swelling. She could feel the pull of the tides she commanded, the brutal force ready to carry her up north to Orgrimmar. There she would make the sea into a tidal wave enough to drown every last soul in that city.

 

A familiar tug around her wrist made her turn around and look back to shore. Sylvanas. 

 

Her fury knew no bounds.

 

* * *

 

 

After sending word to Lor’themar and Vol’jin, wishing to join their little rebellion, Sylvanas had gone to Dalaran. Nowhere else on Azeroth did people spend so much time and effort to make sure the flowers grew with pristine perfection. Nothing else would do for Jaina. She picked a bouquet of purple calla lily, black pansies, hellebore, dotting the dark arrangement with a few white roses and carnations.

 

She hoped to find Jaina’s body before anyone else. Or at least find the grave. Either way, she wanted – had to – pay her final respects. Garrosh and rumors be damned. Her lady deserved better.

 

Unwrapping the chain from her wrist, she held it up to her lips and pressed a kiss to the flat-coin charm. ”Take me to her,” she whispered, hoping the enchantment had not become undone yet, hoping the power of the spell would linger a few hours after death still. ”Take me to Jaina.” 

 

The first thing she noticed was the air. It crackled with magic, in a way she had never felt before. It all felt wrong, torn asunder by forces that should not be toyed with. And then, the smell. The burnt, acrid scent of death. Memories of Silvermoon surged up, it felt the same, smelled the same. Another man who had toyed with a city as if it was nothing, meant nothing. Men kept happening to them, it seemed, and bringing nothing good with them.

 

And then she felt the sea. Salt spray spattered against her cheeks, as the sea surged and swayed in unnatural formations, rising up like a pillar at the docks. The waves were crushing the invading Horde ships, pulling them under, and she saw the drowned bodies floating up to the surface, filling up the harbor among the debris.

 

Atop the pillar of water…

 

”Jaina,” she whispered, eyes wide. Alive. She had survived. She had lived. She had defied.

 

She looked so different. Her white hair made her look older, and sadder. Sylvanas loved it. She loved the fury, the anger, the sorrow. It reverberated in her. _Yes, yes, yes. Take me with you. Let me feel this too._

 

” _You._ ” Jaina’s voice was tinged with magic, speaking as if she came from another dimension entirely. She raised her hand and magic froze Sylvanas, pulling her up into the air. ”Have you come to gloat? Is this what you planned all along?” Jaina looked ready to rip Sylvanas apart. Terrifying and beautiful in her terror and rage. ”Answer me!” Jaina bellowed, her voice echoing out over the sea. 

 

”I came to mourn,” Sylvanas said, using all her strength to push against the force of the spell holding her in place to move her hand.

 

Jaina faltered, just a little and for a brief moment, as she saw the flowers. Then the rage returned. ”Did you know?” 

 

”I found out too late.” Sylvanas wanted to reach out across the distance between the two and touch Jaina’s cheek. She looked so lost. Anger could do that to you, Sylvanas knew this all too well. For all the good things anger did, for all the productive ends you could wrench out of it, it so easily led you astray. 

 

Pushing against the massive crushing force of Jaina keeping her still, she managed to wrench free enough to try and reach her free hand toward her. The distance was too great, and Jaina flinched back, flinging Sylvanas down on the ground. She hit the shore hard, feeling a bone crack in her body. Barely did she have time to recover before she felt a sharp tug at her wrist, and Jaina standing above her, ripping the chain from her.

 

”Your Horde did this to Theramore,” she hissed, the chain and charm cracking in her hand as magic ripped it apart, sharp pieces flying as it shattered. A stray piece hit Jaina’s cheek, leaving a deep bleeding cut. ”You did this to _me_.”

 

Sylvanas rose to her feet, trying to ignore the strange angle of her left leg, and reached her hand towards Jaina again. This time Jaina could not use distance, and she froze when Sylvanas wiped the blood from her cheek with a tender touch. ”He did this.”

 

Jaina grimaced, shoving Sylvanas away. ”You need to go.”

 

”No.”

 

”I’m showing you mercy!” Jaina cried out, and Sylvanas could see her anger wavering, the sorrow welling up. ”Go! And never come back!”

 

Sylvanas made to take a step closer to Jaina but as she did, the mage raised her hand and teleported Sylvanas to Tirisfal Glades. She stood on the shore, watching the rain clouds gathering out at sea, pulling towards Kalimdor. 

 

They had kissed on this beach, once. It had been beautiful then.

 

* * *

 

 

With Sylvanas gone, Jaina let out a scream that she had been holding inside. It hurt. Everything hurt, every breath, every thought, every ounce of magic in her veins. She picked up the bouquet Sylvanas had dropped – flowers for a funeral. Flowers for a dead lover. Why? Why would she do this?

 

Jaina heaved a deep, shaky sob and let go of the waters, the wave crashing down and washing over Theramore, freezing to ice to contain the magic there. It was the best she could do for now.

 

Alone on the shore, Jaina buried her face in the flowers and cried.

 

* * *

 

 

Sylvanas had waited in Eversong Woods for a long time, but her patience paid off. From her position up in the tall trees, she recognized the way the elf below moved – how could she not? A sister knows a sister, even if death takes them far different places.

 

”You are trespassing,” Sylvanas called down, smirking as Vereesa jumped and spun around to look up, bow at the ready.

 

” _You,_ ” Vereesa hissed, aiming an arrow at Sylvanas heart. A valiant effort but misplaced. Even if it hit, it would hardly hurt. And Sylvanas knew her sister would not fire at her.

 

”Yes, me.” Sylvanas held up her empty hands, making sure her cloak covered the concealed daggers at her waist. A little protection never hurt. ”Halduron has been spotting you a lot recently. He asked me to tell you that you are moving on sin’dorei soil.”

 

”So? I do not care. It’s my homeland too.” 

 

Vereesa’s hand trembled, and Sylvanas moved her head to the left on instinct, sighing in annoyance as the arrow hit close to her face and embedded itself in the trunk.

 

”Put that down.”

 

”What? So you can kill me?” Vereesa’s eyes brimmed with tears, and she blinked furiously, trying to keep them back. 

 

Sylvanas laughed, softly, and put her chin in her hand. ”I miss these lands too, little sister. But it’s not the same coming here, is it?”

 

”It’s a small comfort.”

 

”But is it enough?”

 

Vereesa finally lowered her bow, blinking back the tears. ”I miss him. He died at Theramore, and why? Because your warchief thought it fun? What was the point of it?”

 

Had she still been alive, Sylvanas may have slipped down from the tree and hugged her little sister. She and Vereesa had always been the closest, always been the ones to go riding and hunting together, to spend their nights under the stars telling tales. Once upon a time, they had been inseparable.

 

But she was dead. And much had changed, her sister as well. 

 

”What does your Horde have to say for itself?” Vereesa asked. ”What do you have to say?”

 

”He will die,” Sylvanas said. ”There are forces moving against him already. Rebellions rising. Will you join us?”

 

”No.”

 

”Shame.” Sylvanas sighed. ”Perhaps you ought to leave before the Silvermoon rangers find you.”

 

”Let them.”

 

”Sister,” Sylvanas said, her voice sharp and cold, ”if you throw your life away like this…”

 

”Then you’ll do what, raise me into undeath? Scold me more? What do you want from me?”

 

Sylvanas heard the call of the rangers from afar, their hawks circling above. ”Your sons await you at home, do they not? Perhaps you should go to them tonight. Perhaps this is not the day to die.”

 

Vereesa wiped her face with the back of her hands, trying to glare at her sister and failing. She always looked so endearing to Sylvanas, even when she loathed everything about her dead sister. How cruel blood was. How it bound you. 

 

Sylvanas jumped down from the tree and approached her little sister, cautious and wary, but Vereesa broke first, flinging herself at Sylvanas and wrapping her arms around her neck, sobbing against her chest. It left Sylvanas… Uncomfortable. She stood with her arms at her sides. If she had been alive, she would have stroked Vereesa’s hair, whispered comforting words in her ear. But not now. Not here. 

 

”You’re so cold,” Vereesa murmured, pulling back a little.

 

”Such is undeath.” Sylvanas stepped back, putting distance between them. ”Go. They are coming.”

 

Vereesa hummed, thoughtful. ”I thought I recognized the smell in Jaina’s quarters. It’s you, isn’t it? Who’s been in her bed?”

 

Sylvanas narrowed her eyes. ”You clever little shit.”

 

”Perhaps you should be more careful about leaving traces everywhere.” Another call in the woods, this time closer. The rangers must be keen to drive off their persistent intruder. 

 

Vereesa seemed to think so as well, making to leave, but Sylvanas caught her arm in a hard grip. ”Is Jaina… Is she fine?”

 

Her sister squirmed, but couldn’t break free of the grip. ”No. She isn’t. Maybe she will never be again.”

 

”Promise to care for her.” Sylvanas squeezed Vereesa’s arm hard. 

 

”Fine! I will!” Vereesa pulled herself free, annoyed. ”You just wanted to ask about her. You don’t even care about me.” 

 

”Vereesa…”

 

But her little sister was already retreating, vanishing into the woods.

 

* * *

 

 

Jaina had never hated _anyone_ like this before. With such a burning hot loathing. It made her feel exhausted, and frustrated, and like every string in her was pulled taut and pulling further. There just was no end to hate. 

 

In some foolish endeavor, she had called upon Thrall to see her in Dalaran. She had hoped he would put it right, ease her mind, calm it. How wrong she had been.

 

”You can’t blame the Horde for what he’s done,” said Thrall – or Go’el, as he liked to be called now. Spirituality did not suit him. It just made him pretentious. ”He acted on his own intentions.”

 

”You’re right,” Jaina said, glaring at him. ”I can blame you instead. You should have stopped him long ago.”

 

”The elements deemed him–”

 

”Fuck. The elements. They were wrong. _You_ were wrong.”

 

She hated him. She did. Everything about him left a sour taste in her mouth now, his constant begging that he was neutral, that he had no involvement in what had happened, when everything was because of him. Because he had to go _find himself_ and _The Elements_ , as if there were no other shamans in the lands. As if he alone carried all upon his back.

 

She hated that he stood in her study and argued for forgiveness. He was so… Detached. This wasn’t the Thrall – Go’el – she had known before. He knew nothing.

 

”Jaina, you’re not seeing things clearly.”

 

She laughed, hard and sharp. ”Am I not? You appoint an untested, war-hungry boy to lead the Horde. He cares nothing about what has happened before here. He cares only about conquest. About glory. And you think he would, what, lead peacefully?”

 

”The spirits spoke his name. They guided my choice.”

 

She ran a hand through her hair, biting back from screaming in frustration. ”There you go again! It is always someone else’s reason that made you do it. You were just a conduit. Just a lost soul searching for meaning. Is that it? Is that your defense?” 

 

”Jaina…”

 

”No. Stop. You are culpable. Your choices brought us all here.” She pinched the bridge of her nose, feeling a headache coming on. She had been having them a lot since Theramore, probably from the wild magic that had coursed through it in the aftermath. ”I just want… I just want to know what to do now.”

 

He tapped his knuckles against her desk, thinking. ”Normally, I would beg of you to stay calm, to see reason. To be the balance Azeroth needs. But you won’t listen to that.”

 

”No. I won’t.” 

 

”Then… Know that the Horde rebels. Garrosh thinks he has killed Vol’jin, but he lives and strikes back. Lor’themar and Sylvanas, as well.”

 

Jaina closed her eyes. She didn’t want to think about Sylvanas. She didn’t want to hear this. 

 

”They are always eager for help. Perhaps…”

 

”No.” She opened her eyes, glaring Thrall down. ”Now go. We’re done.”

 

”Is this how we are now?”

 

”Yes. You should have been wiser with your choices.”

 

He left, reluctant, wounded, and she drew a sick sense of pleasure from it. Their friendship had fizzled out long ago, and this had helped her anger somewhat. Barely. The headache still tortured her, and the helplessness with Wrynn refusing to raise an army _until the necessary time_ made her feel cornered.

 

But she couldn’t shake the thought of that rebellion. Varian didn’t listen to her, and the few forces she could muster up – what could they do? Throw themselves on the gates of Orgrimmar and die, while Garrosh laughed. No, she needed more. And the scale of the rebellion tempted her, and disgusted her. The thought of being among those who were complicit in Garrosh’s actions burned like bile in the back of her throat.

 

And yet… Where else? What else?

 

She didn’t go there because Thrall told her to. Nor because of Sylvanas. Or even Garrosh.

 

She went there because she needed it. Her angry furious heart needed it. Her desire for vengeance demanded it. She needed action and to see it through to the end.

 

* * *

 

Seeing Jaina again moved something within Sylvanas. Jaina had changed – she looked visibly tired, dark circles under her eyes and a shimmer of blue across them, as if the magic within her never abated. Her hair, turned stark white, reinforced it all. Violence had changed her. Loss had ruined her.

 

It was… A movement she could relate to.

 

Sylvanas kept her distance at first, wary of the Alliance joining in on the rebellion. And the anger in Jaina sparked, showing itself in each slight she could imagine from others. At Jaina’s side, Vereesa fumed with a similar energy, but far more openly. And while Jaina chose to ignore Sylvanas, treat her like air, Vereesa made sure to glare in her direction as frequently as possible.

 

It grew tiresome.

 

As the tipping point drew closer, Sylvanas had all the kor’kron watching her in Undercity rounded and given two options: join her cause or die. She just needed enough of them – and Cromush counted among those – to agree with her, and Garrosh would think nothing was amiss in the city. She then had the zeppelins sabotaged, lamenting the loss of transportation to Orgrimmar in an apology for letting Gilnean insurgents get so far into Horde territory when Garrosh demanded an explanation.

 

He had his eyes on other prizes.

 

And while he did, Sylvanas amassed the forces of Undercity and Silvermoon in the upper ruins of Lordaeron. Vereesa brought her Silver Covenant, and mages from Kirin Tor worked to maintain a barrier to conceal the movements and keep portals open to transport forces and messengers. The tide had turned, the wave ready to crash in on Garrosh.

 

Soon. Soon she would pay him back for every slight. How she yearned.

 

* * *

 

 

”I hate being here,” Vereesa said, coming into Jaina’s tent. They had set up camp in Lordaeron, co-ordinating forces and movements. ”It reeks of death.”

 

”It does,” Jaina agreed, tucking a stray strand behind her ear as she poured over the map. They kept losing spies, lacking intel on what was truly happening inside Orgrimmar. And being here, in Lordaeron, made her skin crawl. She remembered begging people to come with her, trying to save who she could. She should have done more then. It was hard not to wonder, which of the Forsaken there today could have been alive had she done things differently. 

 

If only she had cut down Arthas when he had done the wrong thing. It made her feel sick with possibility, considering a world where nothing he set in motion had happened, because she would have been brave and fearless enough to kill him. 

 

It would have been a better world. Her younger self had been so naive. So stupid. So _weak_. 

 

She would not make the same mistake twice, with anyone, no matter how much they meant to her.

 

”And my sister…” Vereesa trailed off, licking her lips. ”I don’t understand her anymore.”

 

”What is there to understand?” Sylvanas said, mocking, at the entrance of the tent. ”You think many things about me and so few of them are true, little moon.”

 

”And you come and go as you please without permission.” Vereesa bristled with rage, always angling to pick a fight with her sister over the smallest slight. As if it would solve anything.

 

”I came because the sin’dorei and quel’dorei are drinking and it is devolving fast,” Sylvanas said, an amused smile playing on her lips. ”It would behoove us all for someone responsible to nip it in the bud.”

 

Vereesa hesitated, but then grabbed her bow and left, casting a pointed glance back at Jaina. Ah. She must know then. No secrets between sisters, it would seem, even if they were as enemies.

 

Jaina sighed, beckoning Sylvanas in. ”You have your tricks for getting me alone still, I see.”

 

Sylvanas did not move from her position. ”I came to see you, yes. You seem most inconvenienced to be here.”

 

”I am only here to oppose Garrosh. After that…” Jaina shrugged. ”I leave. I go back to Dalaran and the Kirin Tor. I never think of you again.”

 

Sylvanas tilted her head. When she spoke, she sounded almost impressed. ”You have steeled your heart.”

 

”My heart is broken. It’s different. You wouldn’t understand.”

 

Sylvanas laughed, a short cruel laugh, and then her burning red eyes met Jaina’s. The lights dimmed in the room, a darkness rising as her voice deepened to a bitter hiss. ”I remember still the feeling of Arthas driving his sword through me. Of him forcing me to watch Silvermoon’s fall as I died. For what reason? He didn’t even conquer. Just razed. I watched as my people were cut down, powerless to stop it. Then he turned me to continue do his will. I was his weapon. I was his _toy_.” She took a step closer, dark smoke pooling on the floor around her feet and rising to blot out the lights. ”You think I know nothing of heartbreak, lady Proudmoore? I know of death. I know of many things your Alliance would crumble in terror to experience, and I endured through it. Do not belittle me like this.”

 

Jaina felt the chill of the grave crawling up her spine, but she did not flinch. Instead, she felt it – the rage, the unyielding anger, the fury. Oh, how it came to her without even needing to ask. And for once, she pushed it back. She bit her own tongue, counted her breath, and then touched Sylvanas’ hand.

 

”I’m sorry.”

 

Sylvanas seemed taken aback, but quickly fixed her expression into a neutral one. ”It is not your fault. It just is.”

 

Jaina leaned back against the table, shaking her head. ”You know you should be angry with me, right? Doesn’t it gall you that I didn’t cut down Arthas when I had the chance?”

 

Sylvanas let the light back in, and came to stand side by side to Jaina, also leaning against the table, her arms crossed over her chest. ”But I could also blame Uther for failing to cut him down. And I can blame myself for failing to kill him, for being the first and last line of defense against his onslaught on Silvermoon and failing.” She closed her eyes. ”I _do_ blame myself for that. But how far back can I go, blaming others for not killing him? His teachers, his father, his mother for not choking him in the cradle?”

 

”I was soft then.”

 

”Yes, you were. And now, you are not.”

 

They stood in silence for some time, shoulder next to shoulder without touching. Jaina kept glancing over at Sylvanas, part of her hating that she felt a slight thrill at being so near Sylvanas again, and another part wondering how they could ever go back. Perhaps there was no going back. Perhaps this was it for them.

 

”I liked the flowers you picked,” Jaina began, voice low. ”For my grave.”

 

Sylvanas shrugged. ”The scent of flowers reminds me of my first death, in the blossoming fields below Silvermoon.”

 

”Then why did you pick so many flowers for me when we…” She trailed off, unsure how to define what they had. What it meant. What it was, and what would never be again.

 

”Because you live. You still drew joy from them. It is that simple.”

 

They said nothing else. There was no need.

 

* * *

 

 

Jaina surprised Sylvanas when she, one night between battle-plans and war tables, reached her hand across the table and put it over Sylvanas’. 

 

”I miss you,” Jaina said, her words urgent and voice needy. ”I miss _us_.”

 

And then her hand was gone, the moment over. But the heat, the imprint it left, lingered all night in Sylvanas.

 

The next morning, the ships launched from the shores and Jaina stood at the helm, urging the sea to carry them faster, controlling the waves and wind even though it made her shiver from exertion. Sylvanas watched over her, patient, the plan coalescing in her mind.

 

On the shores of Durotar, their fleets landed and the siege broke through the gates, delving deep into the ruined heart of Orgrimmar. How he had twisted the city, dug deep and far, and pillaged and plundered Pandaria of its treasures. How his hunger had tainted the Horde.

 

When he fell, the inevitable happened – Thrall demanded that they give him a fair trial.

 

Sylvanas stood there, concealed by the shadows she pulled forth, pulling the string of her bow. No one else saw, only Jaina. Their eyes met. Jaina could see the question. _Do I?_ She nodded. No doubt and no hesitation.

 

Even though what had happened to them had been years and continents removed, it reverberated in the other. And they knew what had to be done. No mercy for the merciless. No second chances for the guilty.

 

She let the poison-tipped arrow fly. No healing magic would be able to cleanse him and restore him. She watched, shameless, as he writhed on the floor, his furious eyes meeting hers. His death would be painful. He would suffer, and he would be alive long enough to know exactly who caused it.

 

”You… Witch…” He spat the words out, choking on the frothing bile and saliva welling up, blood trickling from his mouth.

 

Sylvanas merely smiled.

 

* * *

 

 

In the aftermath of the battle, Jaina retreated to the flagship of the fleet she had brought with her to Kalimdor while the soldiers and commanders celebrated ashore. She avoided looking to the land, to the smoking ruins of Orgrimmar, and instead kept her gaze on the sea as the moon rose, full and heavy. The soft movements of the waves soothed her, and for the first time, she felt truly spent. No exhausting magic pumping through her veins, no fury demanding blood for blood.

 

She felt hollow. Victorious, yes, but incredibly hollow. And sorrow was demanding its tithe, pouring into the emptiness left behind.

 

A rap on the cabin door, and then Sylvanas entered without waiting for permission. She set her bow down, letting her cloak fall to the floor. ”The others have called me many things tonight. Dishonorable. Terrible. But I know they are all happy about this outcome.”

 

Jaina closed her eyes. ”Thrall will never forgive you.”

 

”Thrall is not warchief any longer. I do not care for his opinion.” Sylvanas stood in front of Jaina, asking permission with her eyes. Jaina nodded, and instantly Sylvanas had her arms around Jaina, pulling her close, putting them forehead to forehead. ”I only care about yours tonight.”

 

Jaina smiled, feeling a tear roll down her cheek. ”You did the good thing.”

 

Sylvanas’ thumb caught the tear, wiping it away. ” _Good_. Only you would have the heart to call me that.”

 

Jaina lost track of how long they stood like that, so close she could smell Sylvanas, her hot breath against Sylvanas’ icy one, but she didn’t let go. Not this time. 

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes, you just want to ignore what is going on in-game currently and just enjoy some useless lesbians dealing with trauma and falling in love. Is that so wrong? (This is going to have a happy ending. Don't worry.)


End file.
